


Keep Moving Forward

by ceria



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceria/pseuds/ceria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton's First Law of Motion states that a body at rest will remain at rest unless an outside force acts on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Moving Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdwegian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdwegian/gifts).



> Title borrowed from one of May's line in "FZZT" and _Meet the Robinsons_. Thank you to Nawilla and jesseofthenorth for the beta help. I continually tinker so all mistakes are my own.

For too long, prior to Coulson making her join his team, Melinda had hidden behind the monotonous regulations of procedure. It had been… predictable. Safe. Unlike working in the field and making instant decisions that she might second-guess later. At first she hadn't thought she'd like flying the bus. Instead, she found comfort in exchanging one routine for another. She no longer had a desk to hide behind but she found that pre-flight preparations calmed her. Staying in the cockpit meant she remained alone. It gave the illusion of privacy and occasionally, let her pretend she was alone.

Even after the death of so many Agents during the Battle of New York, she'd escaped reassignment; until Coulson surfaced again. His survival shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it was. Death was a part of SHIELD that no one comfortably accepted. She was glad that he made it – no matter how it had been done. 

Watching Simmons almost die hadn't been as painful as watching Fitz almost give up. Death was always harder on the living left behind. Even Skye, who was arguably less of a team member than Melinda herself, had tackled Simmons with a hug as soon as feasibly possible.

And what had Melinda done to celebrate Simmons not dying? Told Phil that the only thing left was moving forward. He'd accepted her advice as though her cup of wisdom wasn't overflowing with self-recrimination. The truth though? They were not the same person with the same past. 

~ * ~

"You never call me to the front of the bus," Coulson said as she pointed to the co-pilot's chair. He needed to be in one place for long enough to have this conversation and seated meant she had more time to dissuade him from escaping. "I'd rather not interrupt your solitude." She pointed again, ignoring the lie in the words since he interrupted her more often than not. He hesitated a moment longer; Coulson was too smart to think this conversation would be about the local weather patterns.

"Joining this team didn't leave me that choice, sir," she said, as non-accusatory as possible since she knew why Coulson had forced it; she'd needed a kick start. It had become too easy to stay inert.

But the events from the prior weeks, surrounding Amador, meant Melinda wasn't going to ignore the chance to give their team leader something back that he didn't seem to know he needed. Once upon a time, after the events that made her choose a desk job, Coulson had talked to her about her choices. She didn't recall – by choice – most of the conversation but what she'd taken away, even if he hadn't meant that, was that Melinda made her choice. 

Amador hadn't been given that choice. The old Phil Coulson wouldn't have comprehended that. This man though? Who lived when he shouldn't have? He understood it. And no matter what he didn't say, Melinda couldn't help but think of another Agent who'd been taken from SHIELD and used against his will by an enemy. She was sure those events had also shaped Coulson's choice to help Amador. She just wanted a little more intel to confirm her suspicion.

"You didn't want HQ to know who we were tailing," she said, "when we were chasing Amador." The observation definitely was not phrased as a question since he'd already told her as much; "So I did some digging. It appears that _all_ your past missions are flagged by a certain strike team should new information surface." She could have turned toward Coulson for verification. Instead, Melinda watched him out of the corner of her eye, noting how still he'd become at the mention of Barton and Romanoff.

He never had many tells but stillness was definitely something Coulson used when he wanted to hide. "Your point?" he asked, voice too casual and Melinda wanted to smile.

_Got you._

"You didn't fool Agent Blake for a second," she said, willing to change the subject. "He's a company man, Coulson. He's going to suggest that we're watched closely for the next few weeks."

Coulson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's on me, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for protecting your own," Melinda said, the words bitter in her throat. But this current team was not her past team – a painful truth to accept but she could do it. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and added, "I need to define our lines."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. "We leave no one behind, we don't assume they're traitors, and we protect them with our lives." It wasn't a SHIELD-sanctioned answer by any means. 

Melinda approved.

~ * ~

The bad thing about working with and befriending geniuses meant it became much harder to hide from them after dying. For days after Amador had been returned to HQ, Phil had been on pins and needles. He'd gone so far as to request a set of virtual eyes on any of his past files and any activity on his real name and current (well, technically former) aliases. 

It felt mostly like overkill since the only thing concerning Phil Coulson accessed since his 'death' had been the intranet memorial page. Even so, all forms, requests and reports were listed as Team Juliet (Nick had sniggered like a pre-pubescent boy when he told Phil their code name. The jackass.). Phil signed his reports with the same code name. Fitz-Simmons and Skye weren't Specialists or a Strike Team. The three of them didn't stand a chance should Clint or Natasha get curious.

All thoughts about _why_ they hadn't become curious were firmly squashed. With intent.

 

That first week in Tahiti, he'd woken every day and reached across his too-empty bed, looking for Clint. Excuses were easy; Barton was in rehabilitation himself, he hadn't survived, Natasha had taken him somewhere safe, Nick had sent him on a mission. The fact that Clint wasn't cleared to know his partner was alive had not crossed his mind until Phil's first day back to work.

Phil knew his brief death changed something in him. He'd thought that every time he'd considered contacting Clint anyway. That he could disobey HQ to protect the life of a young girl he wasn't all that attached to yet? Well, May was right. Trauma did something to a person.

His half-hearted argument to not provide HQ with Amador's name was done to keep any flags from being raised, certainly. But that wasn't the only reason. How much time could pass before an unavoidable avoidance before willful? If he was Clint, he wouldn't forgive himself after all this time.

He'd gone against the rules and refused to give Simmons up. A year ago, Phil would have let her die. He spent the next few hours, once they left the Sandbox, waiting for the guilt to hit him. It hadn't. No argument he made, playing his own Devil's Advocate, made him change his mind. Phil had done the right thing instead of the dictated thing. It had been a lesson that Clint had never thought Phil would learn. 

He looked at the personal cell phone sitting on his desk one more time. The one he charged every other day and hadn't turned on (except once, the first day, to enter one phone number into the contact list). It would be so easy to pick it up and call home.

He wasn't sure yet why he couldn't. That alone kept him from calling. Phil wasn't fond of uncertainty.

May had been partially right when she said the only thing left was moving forward. Sometimes, though, the past wasn't a bad thing. Especially when Phil clung to its memory so tight. He wasn't ready to face a future without Clint – even if he didn't know how to address it yet.

~ * ~

Phil blocked her left jab easily enough. "Do you understand why I didn't want to go back into the field?" May asked. Not _do you know_ because knowing and understanding were two different things. He tried to swipe her legs out from under her before answering and May gave that little half smirk as she stepped around him.

"I think so," he said.

"Tell me." He blocked two more thrusts and partially avoided her kick.

"It's not quite fear. We're taught to handle our fear," Phil said. They separated, picking up towels and water bottles. "I think we all have this ingrained instinct to protect our emotions. You didn't want to risk getting close again."

"But you took that fear away when you defined our team parameters," May said and Phil only raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. "What I feared, because of my past, won't come to fruition while you lead. You've already confirmed that."

He had and Phil couldn't regret that choice. They wouldn't leave anyone behind and he wouldn't sacrifice one of them on SHIELD's orders. Not anymore.

"You did me a favor, Coulson," May said, sitting across from him, mirroring his position as they stretched and let their muscles relax. "So I'm doing you a favor in return."

Oh god. Phil glanced up toward his office and thought about the cell phone on his desk. He had no doubt it was turned on and the log would register at least one phone call.

"I'm taking away your fear," she said, standing up. "You have a little under an hour."

"You don't even know my fear," he whispered and May scoffed at him. 

"It's not that hard to figure out, Coulson. Besides, what did I just say? I took that fear away. You better hurry if you want to get a shower and pick out a nice suit."

He couldn't resist one more question though. "What happened to only moving forward?"

"Maybe I was wrong, or maybe this," wide arms indicated the bus and everything inside, "isn't actually moving forward for you. It may seem like you are, but I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Phil repeated.

"I think it's you, hiding in plain sight, falling back on what you know best. Taking a group of disparate people and turning them into something else." Her smile was sad enough to make Phil's chest clench. "I don't have the option to re-live my past. 

"Besides, maybe you shouldn't consider him part of your past. I think maybe you should consider him part of your future."

He didn't say thank you, he couldn't yet. He had an appointment to keep, after all.

~ * ~

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop; but the bus had landed a few hours ago and there was only one non-emergency exit. Ward had taken the ducklings for some fresh air some time ago. He was probably running them through drills by now. Skye would make a valiant effort to keep up for longer than forty minutes. She'd get better. 

Fitz-Simmons would be easily distracted – if they hadn't already found a bug to argue over. After her almost brush with death some solid ground beneath their feet would do both of them good. 

No, she didn't want to eavesdrop but she'd already promised Coulson she had his back, no matter what. Even if that meant protecting him against an angry master assassin.

Phil stood at attention in his best-fitted black suit in the middle of the open cargo bay, his fingers straying to touch Lola every few seconds. As soon as the jeep came rushing into sight, he stepped closer to his car, finger tips pressed white against her hood. 

Clint stumbled out of the jeep in civilian gear, his folded bow clutched in one hand, quiver attached at his hip. He didn't take in anything except Phil, standing there, waiting for him. 

 

She'd been assigned to work with the two of them the first time eight years ago. She hadn't officially met Clint Barton yet but had already dreaded the assignment before it began. She'd heard about his insubordination more than once. But she'd also heard that he was loyal, gifted, tactical and _smart_. What she'd taken away from that first mission together was that too many handlers were afraid to work with him.

Except for Coulson. She'd watched them communicate with abbreviated hand motions and half-aborted sentences and had wondered just how close the two of them were.

 

Coulson remained in the cargo bay, Barton on the runway, staring at each other in silence for too long. Clint's eyes were bright, his expression changing into something joyous and Phil's stiff posture melted with relief. 

Barton moved first, lifting one foot as if to step on the ramp. Instead, he smirked and gave Coulson a crooked grin. "Fury lied, huh?" She couldn't see Phil's expression to know why it made Clint look so happy. Without a word, Phil met him half way, hands to faces interspaced with short kisses that covered eyes, noses and mouths. "Give me the word and I'll make Hill the official Director."

Melinda didn't doubt Barton would kill Fury if Coulson agreed to it.

"I'm sorry," Phil said, shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry."

"Doesn't matter," Clint said. He looked steadier than Phil yet he maneuvered them closer to Lola so they could both lean against her. "Mellie, it's time for you to go. Thank you for the phone call and I'm in your debt, but you don't get to watch the rest of this." He glanced up at her and Phil started, following Clint's gaze to focus on her as well.

She should have never doubted Clint's vision. Shrugging, she swung down, landing silently on the ramp next to them. "I'll keep everyone off the bus as long as possible."

"Thank you, Melinda," Phil said and she saluted him as the bay started closing.

"Something's changed, Clint," Phil said, touching his chest and his partner shrugged.

"Does it change how you feel?"

"About you? Not at all."

"The rest we can figure out," the words were lost. Melinda put her sunglasses on. 

 

Ward and the ducklings wouldn't have gone too far. She took the jeep, letting the sunshine and wind sting across her skin. She wondered who would figure out first that their team leader had company – then figure out that company meant ' _company_.'

The cooler in the back of the jeep indicated Clint had kept his word and picked up enough food for the team. It would help keep them off the bus that much longer. Besides, an impromptu picnic might be fun. She'd have to pull Ward aside because he wouldn't buy it, and Skye would figure out next that Melinda was purposely stalling their return, but she'd let Ward, as her S.O., take care of that explanation. It would be fun to watch at least.


End file.
